Reply To: Cofficionados Bandits (vs Lucid Dreamers)

The hat was gone.

Kit stood blinking in the sun, the shape of his new self cooling around the edges like a half-written cookie losing form. Without the cowboy hat, the lasso made less sense. His accent wobbled, then vanished completely. The sunglasses stayed, but now just made everything too dark, even tinted pink.

Behind him, the gazebo creaked again. But no trapdoor this time—only a faint whirring, like a film projector syncing spools.

“It’s reloading,” said Thiram from the sidelines, tapping at something that looked oddly like a pressure-gauged Sabulmantium. “Every time someone hands off a narrative object—like a synch, a hat, a horse even—it updates roles. We’re being cast on the fly.”
Chico looked up from Tyrone, who had snatched one of the Memory Pies and was now attempting to hide the evidence behind a flowerpot. “So… Kit’s not Trevor anymore?”

“No,” said Carob, arms crossed. “He’s Trevorless. That identity didn’t bake fully. We have to stabilize it.”

“But with what?” asked Godrick, who had returned carrying a second cocktail, coffee with a glass of water and a slight wry smirk.

Amy, now balancing the cowboy hat on her head as she crouched next to the still-disoriented Padre, called out without turning:

“Bring him another Synch. That’s how it works now, apparently. Hat or otherwise.”